


In the Cool, Cool, Cool, of the Evening (the Neighbors Remix)

by Beatrice_Otter



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Community: gateverse_remix, Gen, Remix, Seasons 9-10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-30
Updated: 2007-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-04 04:52:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatrice_Otter/pseuds/Beatrice_Otter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Jack fights for</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Cool, Cool, Cool, of the Evening (the Neighbors Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Neighbors Series](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/525) by stargatebabe. 



> The song Jack refers to is "In the Cool, Cool, Cool of the Evening," by Hoagy Carmichael and Johnny Mercer, [as sung by the great Rosemary Clooney](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kpxByl2SW-4).  
> Betaed by: [**ivorygates**](http://ivorygates.livejournal.com/)

There should be a Rosemary Clooney record playing in the background, Jack decided, watching kids play street baseball while waiting for the adults to get the food cooked.  That was what was missing.  A little Rosemary, and it could be any summer Saturday evening from his own childhood, the kind of thing you just didn't find anymore outside of old movies.  How did that one song go?  "_Sue_ wants a barbecue, _Sam_ wants to da-da _ham_, _da_-da da-_da_-da-da _stew_—" no clue what came next, something about a tummy-ache.  It had been at least forty years since he'd heard the song, and there was a reason Mrs. O'Neill's little boy Jack was never in choir.

If his team had been here, he'd have tried to continue the song just to annoy them.  Daniel, who would've been comparing the anthropological implications of the traditional neighborhood block-party with the harvest celebrations on PX-whatever, would have taken a break from that to snark about Jack's voice or lack thereof, with maybe a reference to scaring the natives.  Carter would've given Jack a pained look and either tried to distract him with technobabble or put in her two cents in a slightly more respectful fashion—maybe a little less respectful than normal, as they would have been off the clock.  (He spared a few seconds for contemplation of that wonderful sight, Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter in civvies.)  Teal'c would have raised an eyebrow and enquired dryly as to the purpose of such noise—and then maybe bought a CD of the song later, to see how it was supposed to sound.

But they were back in the Springs, while he had just escaped the Pentagon for the day here in DC.  Well, one of the bedroom communities, really, but who was counting?  It was strange having a real neighborhood, again, he thought, soaking in the atmosphere; he'd chosen his house in the Springs—_Colorado_ Springs—after his divorce mainly for its remoteness.

"Y'know, those kids have as many pads on as your average NFL linebacker."

Jack glanced at the middle-aged woman who was filling her cup at the keg.  She nodded over at the kids on bicycles.  He'd seen her around the neighborhood once or twice at odd hours with a big yellow Labrador.  "Oh, I dunno," he said.  "It's not _that_ bad."  A short pause for consideration.  "Quarterbacks, at most."

She snorted and took a sip from her beer.  "Right."

A child screamed, loud even over the sound of metal colliding.  Jack forced himself to relax—it was just a bike accident, he could tell by the sounds that nobody was seriously hurt, and the parents were heading over to deal with everything.  His drinking companion muttered something about lawsuits and coddling and gave him a sidelong look before wandering off to hover over the nearest grill.  Jack returned to surveying the scene, drinking in the sights of a suburban neighborhood getting together for a good time.  He ignored the occasional person watching him; he was new to what was obviously a close-knit community, and hadn't exactly been sociable so far.

His cell phone rang, and he sighed as he dug it out of his coat pocket.  "O'Neill."

It was, as always, Paul Davis.  Who was a good guy, just not one O'Neill _really_ wanted to spend this much time with.  "I'm sorry, sir, but the Chinese delegate just requested your presence."

"Why?"  The thing that sucked the most about his new job was that when they pulled him back into work on a Saturday evening, there wasn't even the prospect of blowing something up or shooting big guns to cheer him up.  At least the traffic on the Beltway wouldn't be too bad on a Saturday evening.

"I think she just got a new set of instructions from her government."

Jack paused, hoping he'd heard wrong.  "Crap."

"Yes, sir," Paul said seriously.  And fervently.  It was the third time this month that'd happened—and they were only half-way through the month.

A suspicious man might start thinking the Chinese were trying to derail the latest round of haggling over the Stargate program's budget.  Not that Jack was suspicious, or anything, and as part of his new job he'd even learned to say stuff like that with a (mostly) straight face.  Daniel would be so proud.  "Do I have to come in tonight to deal with it?  The party's just … getting a glow on."

There was a pause while Paul tried to figure that one out.  Okay, right, obscure reference, and he was too young to have grown up with classic Fifties torch singers crooning in the background.  "If you want to be free to head out with Supreme Commander Thor when he arrives, I think so, sir."

"Y'know, isn't this what we pay _Woolsey_ for?" O'Neill complained as he sauntered across the street towards his new house.  And he'd have to go put his Class A's back on, complete with tie.  Oy.

"He's still busy trying to smooth things over with the Russians."

"And you used to do all kinds of liaison work, too, right?"

"Foreign ambassadors are above my pay grade, sir.  Even with the promotion."

Jack translated that inside his head as, _'I don't like this part of the job any more than you do, and you're not sticking me with it.'_  The problem with a desk job in the Pentagon was that in Jack's experience, the officers who really liked working there (and playing all the political games that it required) were usually the _last_ people you wanted actually doing it.  "Daniel?"

"Busy trying to figure out how to stop the Ori."

"Right.  Any chance we can drop the Chinese delegate through the Gate?  I hear KS7-535 is … freezing, this time of year."

"I don't think so, sir," Paul said wistfully.

"Rats."  Jack shook his head.  "I'll see you when I get in."

***

Ten minutes later, Jack strode out his front door towards his car, tugging at his collar.  He paused as he reached it, and turned around for one last look at the party.  Lots of food, pop, beer.  Kids running around, safe under the watchful eyes of their parents, enjoying a Saturday evening.  Neighbors chatting about baseball, football, kids, work, gardening.  No Goa'uld, Replicators, Ori, or politicians.  No idea about the dangers out there.

Jack slid in his car and drove to work.

 

In the Cool, Cool, Cool of the Evening

Sue wants a barbeque  
Sam wants to boil a ham  
Grace votes for bouillabaisse stew  
Jake wants a weenie bake, steak and a layer cake  
He'll get a tummy-ache too  
We'll rent a tent or teepee  
Let the town crier cry  
And if it's RSVP  
This is what I'll reply.

In the cool cool cool of the evening  
Tell 'em I'll be there  
In the cool, cool, cool of the evening  
Better save a chair  
When the party's gettin' a glow on  
And singing fills the air  
In the shank of the night  
when the doins' are right  
You can tell 'em I'll be there

If there's room for one more  
and you need me why sure  
You can tell 'em I'll be there

If I can climb out of bed  
Put a hat on my head  
You can tell 'em...  
I'll be there


End file.
